In a distant land, centuries ago, there existed two adjacent kingdoms.
They both lived in peace and were, for the most part, happy. The first of these
two kingdoms was built upon the greatest mountain in the realm; the castle and
the village both resided precariously close to the ravine below. If one was to
glance at the castle from the valley, that person may be stricken with an innate
fear that the castle would one day tumble down the edge of the bluffs. And
although such paranoia would not be completely unjustified, the possibility
never came to be realized. This kingdom existed at such an altitude the gardens
were often bare, and only the most hearty of crops would ever grow.
The second kingdom was
located in the glen below the mountain. Instead of teetering on the edge of a
cliff, it resided safely in a grassy meadow. The crops and flowers were so lush
that the entire kingdom appeared like a tapestry painted by an artisan of
immense talent. Fields of violet and cerulean flowers flowed over the rolling
knolls for miles in either direction.
Each kingdom was ruled
by a respected and fair king, both of whom had one daughter. These two
princesses had similar lives in all respects, except they lived in two separate
kingdoms and never met one another.
The princess living in
the valley, whom we will give the pseudonym Elizabeth to protect her identity, rarely
left her castle. She spent most days contently in the safety of the stone walls
which surrounded her. Occasionally she would travel into the village, to gaze
upon the merchant stalls or at the very least to remind the peasants how
radiant she was. Her humility was overshadowed by the air of royalty that she
would be unable to rid herself of, even if she dressed down to the same rags
the other women in the village were forced to wear. But in no world would she
ever dream of being sighted in any cloth other than silk or cashmere. The
dresses sewn for her personally were even more vivid than the flowers in the
surrounding fields.
Her castle was on the
highest hill in the valley, to give it the illusion of being even more immense
than it would have been otherwise. Elizabeth’s room was on the third floor,
with a balcony that overlooked the entirety of one of the many violet fields.
One day, after standing on her balcony and feeling the gentle August wind
playfully toss loose strands of hair across her face, she decided that she would
greatly enjoy ambling through the streets of the village. She would get strawberries,
she decided.
As she neared the
merchant stalls, and began to trot through the thicket of peasants, she was met
with a gratuitous number of smiles and warm gestures. The cerulean dress she
wore only farther accented her status. She weaved between handshakes and the
men’s feeble attempts to start conversation with her. It would have been
impossible for her to acknowledge each person she met to the extent that she
would have liked, so she instead met them with a gentle nod and smile.
The bottom edges of
her dress were dulled by speckles of dry mud by the time she reached the
produce stall. At first the brightly gleaming watermelons caught her eye, but
she regained her attention quickly and began searching for the strawberries
instead. A young man wearing a green apron appeared from behind a curtain.
“Princess,” he said
with a light bow.
She nodded to acknowledge
his presence; the bow he gave her isn’t unusual, but she can’t help but feel as
though she may have detected sarcasm in his voice.
“Is there anything I
can help you with today, madam?”
“Yes, I would like
three pints of your most ripe strawberries.”
“Certainly,” he said
before disappearing again.
She feigned interest
in the rest of the fruit and vegetables for sale while waiting for his return.
She even received a few sharp smiles from two men standing across from a barrel
of red potatoes, which she pretended not to notice. She recognized one of the
men as the blacksmiths son, but she was unsure of the other man’s identity.
When the man with the
green apron reappeared, he was carrying two pints of ruby red strawberries. Little
did she know (but wouldn’t have been overly surprised to learn) he spent five
minutes handpicking strawberries from the dozens of other pints for sale.
“Ah, thank you very
much. They look great!” She exclaimed.
“My
pleasure, but I’m afraid I can’t give these to you.”
“What? Why not?”
“Well, you see, I
couldn’t possibly be able to give these to you in good faith, knowing that
there’s a chance the juice may ruin that absolutely beautiful blue dress you
are wearing. I must implore for you to let me carry these.”
She hesitated, knowing
full well he was attempting (poorly) to sweet-talk his way into spending the next
fifteen minutes with her, hence becoming the most envied man in town. She
agreed reluctantly, maybe for no other reason than to evade the responsibility
of waving hello to every passerby she would meet.
Princess and pauper
strolled side by side; she politely indulged in his small talk and inquiries in
her life as a princess.
“Oh, it’s not so special
I suppose. I’m just like anybody else, I just live in a bigger house.”
“Fascinating.”
When they reached the
castle she thanked him for escorting her home; she offered to pay him for his
time but he emphatically refuses. She hugged him instead, which placed a dumbfounded
grin on his face. He tried to hide his excitement but his suddenly elated
mannerisms made the confines of his heart easy to read.
When the produce clerk
returned to the stall, he was instantly met with the congratulatory handshake
of the blacksmith’s son.
“Look at you, sneaky
bugger, off gallivanting with the king’s daughter.”
“I was just walking
her home,” he says while trying to contain his enthusiasm.
“Oh, I see how it is,”
he says with a wink.
“You may think I’m
crazy, but I’ll tell ya’ this, I am going to marry that girl someday.”
The blacksmith’s son
laughs hysterically. “Yes right, you and every other man east of Fiemond! You couldn’t
get her to take you home even if you were the court gesture sent to make her
laugh!”
“Ah, but you see I
have a plan.”
“Ai, a plan then? Then
tell me, mastermind, how are you going to manage that one?”
“I’m glad you asked”,
responded the produce clerk. “Take a look at this.” From under the table he pulled
out a folded scrap of parchment, a quill, and a bouquet of lilac flowers.
“You’re even loopier
than I thought. So you picked a few flowers from the garden, and wrote some chicken
scratch?”
“O ye of little faith,
just wait and see.”
The blacksmith’s son
left chuckling at the produce clerk’s inane behaviour. A week passed before the
clerk works up to courage to storm the castle with amorous intent. He walked
straight to the front gate, where two guards stood in chainmail armour with their
backs against the stone wall.
“Excuse me sirs, I am
here to see the princess if you wouldn’t mind stepping aside.” He took a step
forward, trying to squeeze between them. Nonchalantly one of the guards lowered
his pike to block his path.
“What is it going to
take to let me through?” he asked with an exasperated sigh. There was no
answer.
Frustrated, he
implemented his backup plan. He walked around to the back of the castle,
towards one of the many vast fields of flowers. He gazed towards balcony on the
third floor and proceeded to pick up a handful of pebbles. His aim was imprecise,
but after about ten rocks he finally managed to hit her window. Elizabeth
scampered towards the noise, to see what is amiss. She didn’t seem miffed, or
even surprised, when she saw the produce clerk standing two floors below,
flowers in hand.
“Hello, Princess!” he
said, boldly gleaming.
“Hello again, may I
help you with something?”
“I brought you these,”
he said while holding up the lilacs.
“Flowers?”
“Yes, and this!” He
holds up the parchment in his other hand.
She sighed subtlety, “You
do realize where we are don’t you? You are literally standing in a lilac field.
If I wanted flowers, I could easily pick them myself.”
“Oh, okay. Well I
still wrote you this.” He opened up the parchment and began to read.
\begin{center}
\textit{
Elizabeth,
My gaze falters in
your light, the disbelief
Than I’m left
with—when you’re not here with me.
My gaze fails me in your light—}
\end{center}
“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to
stop you there. I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re wasting your time with
me. Princesses and paupers just don’t mix, we live in two different worlds and
we always will.” She returned to her bedroom, shutting the terrace door behind
her. Dejected, the produce clerk slinked back towards the produce stall
A week passed, and the clerk was
still brooding upon the princesses words. Fortunately he hadn’t run into the
blacksmith’s son since. If he did he would have had to explain the totality of
his failed serenade. He began to feel hopeless, as if his life didn’t matter. He
searched for meaning, to explain his existence. He visited the council of
village elders, hoping they may have an answer for him, but their response left
him feeling gloomier than he already was.
The lingering malaise last for many more months that he would care to
admit. Then one day, he was met with a particular circumstance that he could
have never predicted. On a particularly slow business day, when he was sitting
next to a barrel of freshly picked apples he was met with a melodic voice that
instantly caught his attention.
“How much for these beautiful, beautiful flowers?” Asked a young woman wearing
a bright red, silk dress. The clerk had never met her before, but he recognized
her as the princess from the adjacent kingdom.
“Oh, actually those aren’t for sale. I just picked those for decoration.”
“Oh pity, I would really like to purchase them from you.”
“Please, I couldn’t charge you for these! Just look, there are fields of
flowers spreading for miles in every direction.”
“Where I am from, up in the mountains, the only flowers we get are the
white blossoms of potato plants. But I guess I can’t complain too much, because
when I walk out onto my balcony, I look down at your village and it’s the most
breathtaking view I can possibly imagine,” she said with a warming smile.
“Well princess, I can give you
these flowers if you like, or I can show you where to find the most vivid
lilacs in all the land.”
“I would like that,” she responded. “If it isn’t too much trouble that
is.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Then maybe, to return the favour, I can show you the view from our
castle.
“I would like that too.”
As promised, the pauper lead the princess to the brightest field of lilacs
in town. He offered to pick them for her, so she didn’t tatter her scarlet dress,
but she insisted on picking them herself. She scanned the flowers so selectively
that the sun was beginning to set by the time they find enough to make a bouquet.
In the back of his mind, the clerk wondered if the timing may have been on
purpose. The pauper lead the princess back out of the field, onto the dirt rode
meant for carriages and horses, and they begin to walk back to the produce
stall.
Coincidentally their walk took them by the blacksmith stable, where the
forges were burning down for the night. A man appeared from the shop; at first
he didn’t notice them, but when he raised his head he was instantly captivated
by the beauty before him. When he shifted his gaze again, to the man beside
her, no words seemed appropriate. Instead, he gave a gentle nod, and chuckled
to himself all the way home.
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